


man hands on misery to man

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Anal Sex, Dacryphilia, Jealousy, M/M, Sad Porn, Unsanitary, minimal foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: Toki and Murderface are together. Nathan and Pickles are together.Skwisgaar? Skwisgaar has nobody.





	

Smashing guitars didn't do much for him anymore. Loneliness had no cure, and being the last single member of Dethklok was a disease Skwisgaar didn't want.

He blamed Pickles, really, for starting this chain reaction. He remembered clearly, too. The face Nathan made when Pickles asked him out for a drink or something. It was innocent. Like a child who just got kissed for the first time. It was something that needed to be seen to be believed. Fast-forward... ah, a month or so later. After dealing with gay crisis after gay crisis, Murderface finally, FINALLY confessed his undying love to Toki, and they kissed and hugged, blah blah blah.

Leaving the world's most beautiful guitarist alone.

Bullshit.

He was beautiful, and talented. Smart, sexually capable, very smooth with his words. Not a slave to his emotions. No, of course, he was a master of them. He was practically perfect, and yet nobody wanted to love him. Absolutely appalling. Ridiculous. Abominable.

Unfair. 

He wasn't completely straight, he liked men too. When they were younger, Murderface, at the very least, used to be all over him. What changed? He clutched the sheets on his bed. Something needed to be done. He decided this, as he was standing in the hallway, and he could, just distantly, hear Nathan groaning from his bedroom, and Pickles laughing. ("Gahd, yer adorable.") Yes, that was when he decided that he deserved that recognition.

Flicking through the employee files, he ended up picking 9607, because he was very, very muscular. Enough to even make Toki jealous. His lips curled in interest over the sheet of paper. He could be loved, too. All the time.

9607 worked in the big office with Charles, assisting in managing Mordhaus' security. Such a noble task indeed. No doubt Skwisgaar could play the princess that he'd whisk away from danger, before they made love in their bed, covered with colorful chiffon sheets. He wasn't sure what to wear, but opted for the usual. Great plan. Walk in, call 9607 out of the room, and get him into his bed before teaching the others that he could still get some. And he could do it better, too. He'd make them wish they'd taken him first.

Step one. He walked into the big security room. Charles was in, but appeared to have fallen unconscious after several days of no sleep. 9607 was standing tall, burly arms by his side. Skwisgaar adjusted his shirt, palms sweating.

"Klokateers 9607?"

"That would be me."

"Can I sees you outsides for a moments?"

"Yes, sire."

And there they were, in the hall.

Step two. He asked 9607 to follow him. They walked to his bedroom. His clean, pristine bedroom. The sheets had just gotten washed, too, for this exact reason. "What is it you wanted of me, sire?" His heart thumped in his chest. 

"...Don't asks questkons." His shaking hands met with his belt. Why was he so damn scared? "Pants. Underwears. Offs." 9607's expression couldn't be seen, but he did as he was told. God, his dick was huge. Skwisgaar shambled over like a zombie, before dropping down to his knobby knees. "Goods... goods." His lips trembled. And then wrapped around the glans, the head. Gave it a quick taste, and backed off for a moment. "Be as rough as you wants. I can handles it." It may have been taken as an order. Regardless, 9607 grabbed onto his long hair and pulled him back down. Air. Air. He snorted massive puffs of air. His face was turning red and there was phlegm in bubbles dripping from his nose, drool lines drawn from his mouth.

He patted 9607's leg.

"Yes, sire?"

He slowly pulled off, coughing and hacking. He felt like he was gonna vomit. "Are you alright, sire?"

"Just... just fucks me alreadies."

This wasn't very fun. But he had to. He fumbled with his belt. Nervous. Why was he nervous? His tight pants fell around his ankles. For once he felt minuscule. Small. Weak. "Horries ups." The bottle of lube on his bedside table met 9607's gloved hands. He slathered his dick. "No portections necessaries."

"But... but sire, you could--"

"I don't cares."

9607 leaned over him, enveloping his scrawny body. Skwisgaar shuddered. It was the first time he'd been penetrated in years. He felt the entry, like a burning, heat coiling deep in his stomach as he felt a brush past his prostate. "Ooogh." He was on fire. "Fucks." He whined, he moaned. "Please."

"Harder, sire?"

"Please."

He obliged. Fuck. Goddamnit. His chest heaved and his palms smacked against the mattress. Why wasn't it fun? It felt good, but it wasn't fun. It was supposed to be. _He was supposed to be having more fun than everyone else._ He grunted and hacked spittle, he felt disgusting. He felt terrible. He felt sick. 

"Sire, are you--"

"Tells me you loves me."

"...I love you."

"Again."

"I love you."

Now it was better, right? He humped. He ground. He was trying. "I love you, sire." He was shaking and his chest hurt. There was a fire inside of him. Friction. He felt scared and sick and he didn't know why, he didn't know why. 

"Does you really?"

"Yes, sire, I really..." A pause. "...Sire?"

He heaved and shuddered. "Sire, you're crying." He wiped his eyes. Oh, oh no. He couldn't be, it was wrong and freakish and he felt sick, he whimpered. "Should we stop? Am I hurting you? I'll commit suicide in your name, sire."

"Nos."

Suddenly their positions were reversed, Skwisgaar was on top, 9607 beneath him, still buried balls-deep in the guitarist's ass. "I don't wants to stops." He coughed and he rose, and dropped, shaking his ass like a two-dollar stripper. It wasn't painful, but it still hurt. "Tells me you loves me!" The words were slurred by his tears.

"I, uh..." 9607 wiped his face with his mask. "I love you."

His face was so watery he was almost certain he was melting. Big, bubbly tears crossing his face, and gobs of snot over his lips. His face contorted and hot and his brows crinkled, and his chin was wrinkling and he felt like a sad, scared child. His breath was shaking, it hurt to breathe, it HURT to BREATHE. Goddamnit. He coughed and hacked and spat, but he still kept going, it didn't matter how he felt. It didn't matter if nobody loved him.

It didn't matter if nobody loved him without being asked. It didn't matter if Murderface, fucking _Murderface_ found "the one" before he did. Stupid goddamn piece of shit Dethklok. He didn't even realize he fell, not even orgasming, not even finishing.

He sobbed and he shook and he blubbered. His hands met his face. God, what was he going to do? 

"...I's sorries."

9607 pulled his pants back up. He had cum. Skwisgaar felt like a dirty liar. "I's sorries I makes you say you loves me."

"...Do you want me to stay?"

He whined, wiping his gross, wet face.

"Just goes away."

God, what was he going to do. He hoped, prayed, that 9607 would die before he could tell anyone. He crawled into bed, feeling disgusting and dirty, coiling himself in his blankets. Maybe someone did check on him. Didn't matter. He didn't care.

He was too damn miserable. He couldn't even fuck right.


End file.
